Antidote
by Siaynoqsbride
Summary: Semi dark story. Lisa and Jackson have inflicted too many wounds on each other to break old habits... but how can they find healing? This is their struggle.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N- Well, here it goes. My first foray into Red eye 'fic. To those of you who are regular readers of my other stories, I am so sorry; I've been submerged in DRL, and haven't had much time to do anything. Anyways, this story is probably going to be updated erratically at best. Sorry! Feel free to leave a review with concrit. _

Upon waking, the first emotion Jacksonbecame aware of was bemusement. Cold, sharp anger did not invade him. Acute, cold, needle-pointed rage did not flow through his system. He was not even aware of the pain that throbbed throughout his entire body for a moment, most sensitive at his throat, chest and stomach. He was only aware of a sense of dizziness and a question that floated to present itself at the forefront of his mind: _Why am I still alive? _

He did not force his mind to remember. He did not make his heavy eyelids open. For a few seconds, he was content to drift, lost in the nexus of his own mind, falling.

He slowly began to recognize things around him. He could hear the quiet, hushed murmurings of people in a hallway not far from him. He could hear someone breathing somewhere close to him, but before he could peruse this thought, it drifted lazily away. He could feel without opening his eyes that he was lying in a bed. The pain made him shiver slightly before he calmed himself. He recognized the stiffness of a gunshot wound; he'd had many of those before. There were blankets around him: the thin, cheap kind that no one keeps in their home.

And then he could discern smells. As soon as he breathed in with his nose, he knew it was a hospital. He could tell from that too-clean odor, that awful sterile smell that fooled no one. He could also smell the rancid sickness that it barely covered, like a cheap air freshener. But there was something else in the room that he could make out, some other sweetened fragrance that was familiar to him...

Lavender. Soft, sweet, comforting, vulnerable... lavender brought back a flood of memories for him. The job. Charming the girl (Lisa, his mind whispered). The job. Her attempts to resist him. Intimidating her. Touching the pale scar on her pale breast. The pen. Anger. Pursuing her. The gunshot and then blackness.

So, he was still alive. And he had failed. This thought brought no despair or rage to him, surprisingly enough. Only bleakness, and weariness.

And then, another emotion entirely. She was still sitting there, he realized. What was she doing, here at his bedside? She loathed him, must loathe him, had to. Had she come to gloat?

He remembered more about Lisa. He remembered her eyes when he had charmed her. She really had beautiful eyes, he realized. He remembered being attracted to her, in more ways then one, and then shoving that attraction aside for the sake of the job. He remembered hating her for what she had done, and understanding at the same time.

More than that. He felt himself yearning to reach out and touch her, to trace longingly, tenderly her skin. He found himself _bound_ with chains of tenderness, a tenderness which he had never experienced and never wanted to. He found himself wanting to taste every inch of her skin, every single inch and then to dominate it all, to possess her completely. He wanted her to scream out his name, and whether it was in agony or pleasure did not matter all that much...

But he felt more than twisted, convulsed desire. Emotion rose in him, dizzying, terrifying. There was something pure buried in all that ugliness, something that was threatening to break free from the chains he had put on it. It was something he could not afford; it was a weakness, a sickness for which there was no cure. It filled his chest, made him swallow with dread. The woman sitting serenely next to him had more power over him than anyone he'd met in his life.

This revelation left him stunned, angry. It made his fists clench underneath the cheap hospital blankets, made his heart rate increase with rebellious defiance. He would not _allow_ her to have that power over him. He could not. He convinced himself, with slow and absolute certainty, that he felt nothing towards her, that she was just another woman. If she was nothing to him, he could crush her... Did he not feel himself slipping back into the same patterns of revenge? Did not the thought of the bruises he imprinted across her flesh make him feel a very real thrill?

He opened his eyes, tired of his mind slipping over those same weary patterns. For a moment, gray and white specks and blurs spun dizzily in front of his eyes before they coalesced into panels. Off-white panels with gray and blue dots on them. He heard a slight rustling of fabric beside him, a quiet brush of clothing. Every sense felt hyper-aware, heightened to extremes. Every sound echoed with a thousand reverberations before fading away. Each individual color stayed imprinted on his mind for a few seconds.

He grew weary of waiting for her to speak. He could _feel_ her presence beside him. It wasn't body heat, the slight breathing or even the calm lavender that he noticed. She had a very real presence, and it pervaded his senses, seeping through his body like ice-cold water...

He attempted to speak, but only managed to gasp and emit horrible rasping sounds. Still she did not move, did not respond, and he attempted to slowly move his neck.

The sight that met him was not altogether extraordinary. She was wearing a light blue flowery skirt that swept along to just below her knees, allowing him just a glimpse of lightly tanned smooth skin. Her blouse was a pearly white, short-sleeved and buttoned up as far as it would go.

His gaze roved to her face. Her eyes were fixed downwards, as if she was avoiding his eyes on purpose. Her auburn curls rested lightly just against her shoulders. They framed a startlingly innocent, fresh face that was relaxed, at the moment. Her features were softly carved from delicate wood. He could make out her green eyes, could observe the solid strength in them that he had awoken.

Seeing her aroused anger in him, stirred the flames that had burned down to mere ashes. The pain all around his body was rekindled as well. And there was something else... that pure, unadulterated beam of light that frightened him. He made one more attempt to speak again, a garbled, mangled growl.

And then she looked up.

------

Lisa was not sleeping well at night. It was nothing that she was not used to, and nothing that she had not expected. But it was still frustrating. The worst part, she thought, was that sometimes they weren't even nightmares in the traditional sense.

She dreamt of those blue eyes, that cut through layers of flesh and bone to see everything that she had tried to hide from herself. She dreamt of those fingers, cold and professional yet somehow strangely tender. She felt those eyes and those fingers dancing over her body in a strange duet that exhilarated and frightened her. She dreamed of his face, of his blue-frost eyes warming...

She woke screaming, always, even when the dreams were pleasurable. For they always ended the same way. The hole would appear in his neck and, the bullet wound in his side and he would fall over onto her, and the blood would soak through her clothes and through her skin...

Jackson Rippner. She wondered sometimes if that was even his real name, but then dismissed her doubts, remembering the solemn look in his eye as he had told her. The police had apprehended him, and had placed him in the hospital for healing. The officer that had spoken to her had not met her eyes. She wondered if he could have answered her unspoken question: Where do I heal?

She hated Jackson, that was for sure. She loathed his smirk, the way he was cold and calculating with her. She detested the way he had been the catalyst for her strength, how he had dug to the bottom of her soul and touched the right chords for her explosion. And, most of all, she hated the way his lowered voice could give her chills. She hated the fact that his cerulean eyes sent a myriad of sensations racing up and down her body.

But most of all, she hated him because he made her _feel_. She had been numb for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was to cry, or even to laugh or scream. She had retreated inside herself ever since her rape. She had formed a shield around herself, around her innermost being that she had sworn would not be broken.

He had not only broken it, he had shattered it. He had trampled on the delicate equilibrium that she had been living in. He had been like a sudden burst of color across the blackened night: blinding.

She did not really know why she had been dragged back here. She had felt numb all the way up the hospital elevator, talking to the guard who kept her nemesis here. She had requested the privacy of shutting the door, and he had nodded, even if his glance had been somewhat suspicious.

It had not been guilt that had caused her to come back. Time had seemed to slow as she walked through the door, as her eyes slowly lit upon the bed. Seeing his broken, bruised, mangled body had given her neither satisfaction nor pity. Seeing him vulnerable was more unexpected than anything else. She did not know what she had been expecting, but it was anything but this man lying on a hospital bed sleeping.

She did not weep, did not break into hysteria, did not even feel anger. Only a pale sense of astonishment, and the knowledge that she had been irrevocably changed.

Almost against her will, a hand of hers had reached out to touch his cheek. It was surprisingly warm, not cold as she had expected it to be. She had thought he would be marble; to discover that he was flesh was astonishment itself. As she gazed upon him, she found herself amazed to discover that he was human. She wondered for a long time, gazing down at her hands, how_ she_ had the power to destroy.

And then he woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N- Well, I managed to get this one out pretty fast, considering all that is going on! Thank you all so much for your replies; they are wonderful! Hope y'all enjoy this next chapter. Hope I didn't make Lisa too OOC. As always, constructive criticism is most welcome. _

**Chapter Two**

There was no sudden explosion of sound and fury as their eyes met. The second that passed was just the same as the one before that, and the one after. There was only a split second, in which Lisa's hand tightened on her skirt convulsively and his throat closed in, preventing speech. Emotions thudded in her, of pain, mistrust and hatred, and for Jackson there was left only the dark chords of anger, fear and suppression.

The tension between them was electric, sharp, and biting, rising like a sea of lightning. It flowed between them: thick ropes, binding, pulling and restraining. Each knew that they were tied, and could do nothing about it; the constraints were of their own emotions.

It only built in the next moment as Lisa rose to stand closer to the bedside, and as his eyes followed her.

She forced her voice down to a pitch in which it did not break and waver. She forced herself to be strong, to remember that he _had no power over her _and that she had come to rid herself of him. She was the predator, now, and he was the hunted.

"I would not advise speaking again," she said, and her voice came out harsher than she had meant it to. The rasp was almost cruel, almost like _his _voice. This would have troubled her if she had not already resigned herself to the fact that he had changed her. She was here to find out how.

She smiled, a smirk curling around her lips as she lifted a dry-erase board with a marker. Every movement delicate, she placed it on his chest.

His body may have been broken, but it was obvious that neither his spirit nor his animosity were. His eyes met hers for another second, and the pure, raw hate and passion in them made her catch her breath. There was power in him, even as he lay completely helpless and at her mercy. The power did not scare her as much as it called to her, which frightened her more than anything.

A pale hand lifted the black marker, regarding it with disdain that was clear in every muscle's movement. He wrote in a scribbled scrawl that was impaired by his injuries:

_Why are you here? To gloat? Leese, I think you know better than that. _

Part of her was beginning to wake to the insanity of all this, to the fact that she was standing at the hospital bed of a man that had tried to _kill _her. The rest of her pushed that part aside, for now.

The facade was slowly melting away, however. She was beginning to lose confidence, to lose the arrogance that had aided her just a moment ago. She forced an expression of utter contempt onto her face, and stared down at him.

"Although seeing your body mangled like this does give me a certain degree of satisfaction," _liar_, she thought, "That is not what I am here for."

Fear crept over her for a moment, absurdly. She took a breath before continuing what she was about to say.

"You changed me, Jackson, and we both know it." Why was she telling him this? She hadn't meant it to be like this.

Something was building inside of her, something cold and hard and predatory. It was like the tension between them, slow and quaking and tremulous. She moved her gaze slowly from the board to his eyes, giving him a level gaze. His eyes were oddly bright and alert, and he watched her every movement as if each one was vital.

"There is something within me that longs to crush you," she whispered. All defenses were gone now, long-abandoned to the thing that was swelling within her. In her eyes was only the honest truth, the depths of her to which she had never allowed anyone entrance. She had no idea why she was allowing _this _man, of all people, to see her.

"There is a deep force within me that rises up every time I think of you, and it frightens me more than I would ever admit to anyone else but you."

His eyes were not mocking, but he was completely still, as if he was savoring every moment.

"I hate you," she rasped bitterly. "So much." Unspoken emotion leaped from his eyes to hers, a connection.

The next moment was silent, broken only by the noises of the respirator attached to his throat. Lisa felt tears beginning to rise to her eyes, but she stopped them in her throat, and breathed in. Once. Twice. She could continue.

"I want you to know," she hissed, "that something ties us together now." A part of her could feel regret, and wanted to pull herself back from the edge. The rest of her was so far that it did nor matter any more, and she was so absorbed in the moment that the future ramifications did not reach her.

She reached for his throat, and he did not even try to stop her, despite the fact that the wound was still raw. Her fingers pressed lightly on the bandages, and his eyes closed for a moment in an expression that anyone else could have mistaken for ecstasy. Lisa felt only wonderment at his expression, and a still-new amazement that it was _she_ that was causing this. Self-revulsion swept over her, but she did not have time for it, not now.

"Never," she breathed, pain choking the words, bringing them forth from her throat, "forget this moment." His eyes burned with intensity as they opened, looking into hers. "It was _me_ that caused this. Any pain that you are in now, it was _my _doing."

His eyes were overflowing with emotion, and none of it fear. He whispered, his voice garbled, mangled almost beyond all recognition, "I may have to steal you."

The words cut across her like a knife, a shaft of light in the darkness. And then she woke, coming back to herself. Acute terror cut across her, as well as a bewildered thought: _What am I _doing

She stepped back from him, quickly, her breathing coming faster. His eyes were colder now, mocking her, laughing at her. In her haste, she did not see the regret.

Every breath heaving, still wondering at what she had done, not knowing herself, she hissed, "Stay _away_ from me!"

She turned around, the defenses back in place, her emotional shields set once again. Grabbing her purse, she turned around and fled.

She knew it was not over. She knew it as she ran down the stairs of the hospital, tears flowing down her cheeks. She knew from the look in his eyes that it would _never _be over, that he would not let her go.

There was a place within herself that was dark, that was cold, that was _like him_. The thing she feared most was not Jackson Rippner. It was the depths to which she could sink. She could only pray that he would not know her weakness; he was far too good at exploiting it.

There were more emotions, snarled deep within her. There was a searing touch of fire that shone deep within the darkness, something that kept it away. It was brilliant, illuminating, could reach to the edges of her soul if she let it. But secretly, to herself, she feared it most of all. It was like a flower that grew in a desert; impossible, going against all odds.

She could not repress it forever. She knew this, deep inside herself. That was why she reverted to the darkness; it was safer, perhaps, than giving herself away to this terrible thing of beauty:

Love.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N-- Sorry it took so long to get this one up. It's a bit shorter, and there's no JL interaction, but I'm hoping it will be worth it. Again, hope Lisa isn't too OOC.Thank you all for your wonderful comments-- they are quite flattering. Oh, and in case anyone is wondering after this chapter, yes I am a classical music fan. And Jackson doesn't know too much about the differences between Verdi and Preisner, as will be explained later,so I swear there areno incongruities. Yet. _

**Chapter Three**

Lisa closed her eyes, allowing herself to slip into the darkness of weariness.

It had been a long day. There had been problems with some reservations that had required her to bend over backwards trying to please some particularly difficult clients. She had dealt with it, all the while never letting the austere professional mask to slip from her face. But repressed anger had built inside of her.

She was becoming more frustrated of late. And she was also becoming more adept at hiding it. It was like all her desires and passions, everything that she thought had died with her spirit, were beginning to rise up. They were throwing off the choke-hold that she had put on them. They were like grasping fingers, forever reaching for something that was out of reach.

She had begun to _feel _emotions recently. It was extraordinary to her, each new experience causing different thoughts and reactions within. She had shut herself off ever since the rape, had closed out the good with the bad. It was all mingled together, and she knew she was not strong enough to combat the strength of passion.

Her shields were slipping, and it frightened her more than she could ever imagine. Repressed pain was beginning to shine through, as well as other, even more frightening emotions.

Her eyes did not seem to want to stay open. She could almost _feel_ the grease in the amount of makeup that was necessary to cover the dark circles under her eyes. She was working sixteen-hour days, simply to keep her mind occupied.

She opened the door to her bedroom, turning on the light. It was sparse, with only what she needed; a demure bed in the corner, a closet, bookcase and drawers. But it was home.

Slowly, leaning on the door, she removed her black 'heels. Her skirt and shirt were to come next, leaving her clad in lingerie alone. Closing her eyes, she simply paused for a moment.

And her emotional shields dropped. Her shoulders lost the tension they had carried since the morning, her back muscles relaxed, her fingers uncurled and her head drooped. She closed her eyes, and, for a mere moment, she was simply Leese. She was not Lisa Reisert, hotel manager, daughter, victim. She was a human being with emotions all her own, thoughts all her own, contained within herself.

She walked, feet moving without the force of conscious effort. It was mechanical routine that led her now, not decisions. She was so _tired_... all she wanted was to rest...

She turned on the stereo system that was on top of her dresser. It was black, sleek, elegant. Functional, more than anything. She needed to unwind in the only way she knew how.

A _Dies Irae _started to play, vindictive and fast-paced, drums swelling with each note. But it was not what she sought, and she wearily pressed the button. Her finger halted, pressed it one, two times.

Preisner's _Lacrimosa_. Mourning, passion, beauty. And pain. Her hands tightened around themselves, bound to fear. It was when she listened to this song that she was most vulnerable, most exposed.

The music started to swell, starting with strings slowly uprising. Lisa closed her eyes, finally giving herself up.

As the soprano started to sing, thoughts and images passed before her eyes. The music was becoming part of her, was liberating her.

She had been whole, once. She had been unbroken, the fused parts of soul and moments of beauty that comprised a human being. She had been happy, content to serve, joyous at times. She had been her father's daughter, an intelligent young woman who was not afraid.

Regret passed over her, a shadow drifting across a barren landscape. She had been broken, her body torn with her hope. Her dreams had been rendered, and she had remained in darkness, sleeping.

And then she woke. The sun rose, blinding in all its beautiful fury. Something within her gave way, something had changed her irrevocably. She was suddenly drowning in emotions she did not understand, and she did not know how to swim. Life was exploding slowly within her, like primitive man first raising his head to the sky to look at the stars and wonder...

But it was terrible, too terrible to behold. For the wonder was not pure, the beauty did not remain untainted. Dark strains of fear and anger stained them, like a drop of blood on perfect skin. There was something within her that was not beauty, that was not glory. It was instead harsh, _bitter_. It was pain, and it would not allow her to forget. She had known cruelty, and would not allow herself to trust again.

Longing burned within her. Every thought was treacherous as she imagined steel-blue eyes. She shuddered, dreaming that they pierced her to her core, _seeing _her. He understood pain; she could see it in him, in the coldness in his eyes. He was like _her_, and that was cause enough for hatred.

Emotions pulsed within her, gathering at her wrists and neck. She was suddenly hunched over, tears flowing down her cheeks and her neck, getting lost in her hair. Self-revulsion swept over her at feeling all this, at not _containing_ it. She was a grown woman, and despair did not become her.

Shuddering softly as the last distant chords died, sorrow, fear and love draining from her, she stood up stiffly. She allowed a sigh to fall from her lips before brushing her hair from her face. She turned off the stereo. Lisa then opened her closet doors, a mask secured on her face once more as she looked for a robe. Emotions were safe inside the music that she had turned off. She was once again a professional, an _actress_.

A voice came from the doorway. It was sandpaper-rough, but she recognized it regardless. There was the same harsh coldness behind it, the same bitter inflections. It haunted her, and for a moment she felt Heaven and Hell colliding to form Earth. Emotion in her swelled, and her shields were ripped aside brutally.

"Never thought you would be one for Verdi."


End file.
